


Molting season

by gadridel



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bantering, Established Relationship, M/M, molting, super fluffy and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 12:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19198483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gadridel/pseuds/gadridel
Summary: It's hot out, Crowley's molting, and he can't even reach all of his feathers.Aziraphale helps.





	Molting season

Crowley's lithe and bony fingers ran through the dark feathers of his wings, carefully and meticulously plucking out the longest of the bunch. Oh, how he  _ hated  _ molting season. Having wings truly was a bitch, sometimes. Birds had it easy- their heads did a twisty thing, and one bird had no qualms against lightly grooming another. Birds had plenty of other folks to lean over to and say 'hey, think I missed a spot, mind checking me out?' Then again, birds did have feathers all over their bodies, so perhaps they weren't so lucky after all. 

  
  


Well. Now Crowley was officially irritated, and pitying  _ birds  _ (of all the creatures to pity!) which only served to make him moodier. The scowl on his face didn't go unnoticed by his companion. 

  
  


It was truly a sweltering day. They were sitting in the apartment above the bookstore, fanning themselves and slowly peeling away layers. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale dressed for heat, what with Crowley's excessive love of dark colors  and Aziraphale's desire to wear a five-hundred piece suit to every occasion. And yet, irritatingly, Aziraphale seemed no sweatier for the occasion. He hadn't even removed his jacket! He sat reading in a lounge chair without a care in the world. 

  
  


Goddamn angelic blessings. 

  
  


"How on Earth do you do that?" Crowley's voice crawled with irritation as he plucked out another feather and tossed it aside. The wind picked up, grasped the tiny feather, and blew it around the apartment in a miniature whirlwind. 

  
  


"How do I do.... what?" Zira finally perked up from his book, face pulled in confusion. "Read? Well it's simple, my dear, you simply take a book-" 

  
  


"No, not the reading!" Crowley threw up his hands in exasperation, and Zira couldn't help but smirk. Sarcastic bastard. "The layers, Angel. How do you wear so many in this weather?" His arm contorted backwards in a failure of an attempt to reach his very farthermost feathers. 

  
  


"...Crowley, if this is your attempt at getting me out of my clo-"

  
  


Zira was promptly silenced by a gentle tap of a wing against his face. "Oh, enough out of you." Crowley's wing retracted back towards himself, and he returned to his pouting and feather-pulling. He figured that would be the end of it, but then he felt the bed dip back behind him, and heard the sound of fabric shifting. Suddenly, hands were gently splayed against his back and tracing towards the beginning of his wings. 

  
  


"This is what's got you so irritated, isn't it?" Zira's fingers so gently tugged at his feathers, and Crowley's response (a begrudging  _ 'yes' _ ) went unspoken. But they knew. 

  
  


It went quiet for awhile. Crowley's scowl melted to something calmer and relaxed, absolutely pleased by the tender sensation of Aziraphale's hands grooming his wings. The heat seemed to subside and whether it was due to a little miracle, or just the mere presence of his angel- not An angel, but His angel- he didn't know. It really didn't matter, either way. (But he'd like to believe it was the latter.)

 

============

  
  


Crowley had no idea how much time had passed, but one moment it was midday and he was upright and the next it was night, and he was on his back. His head was cushioned against something soft, warm. He reached upwards and realized they were legs. Opening his eyes, and he realized they were Zira's legs. (But whose else would they even be? Ideally, they'd only ever be his.) What a sight that bright smile was. 

  
  


"Got rid of the rest of those pesky winter feathers. You fell asleep halfway through." Aziraphale muttered. 

  
  


"You're still wearing that sweltering jacket." Crowley's voice was softer than he expected it to be for such a statement. "Rubbish angels and rubbish blessings." His hand moved upwards to lightly press against Zira's cheek, cradling his face. He could die like this. 

  
  


"You do love me, though." Zira's voice was a quiet hum, a soothing melody. 

  
  


"I don't." 

  
  


"You do." 

  
  


"........... I do." 

  
  


He pulled Zira's face down and kissed him. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> God I love writing these two and their banter. 
> 
> I realized too late that Crowley is part snake (or something) and probably loves the heat. But .. oh well. 
> 
> Thanks for reading !!!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ gadridel (main blog) or @ angelicineffability (good omens side blog) !!


End file.
